Empire State

The Girl has a college friend who, after living in South Africa for a while, decided to try something really wild and moved to New York State to work at a posh resort.  It's the sort of place frequented by Supreme Court Justices and really renowned horror authors, so our only chance of getting a look inside was by knowing someone inside.  Lucky us!

We also used our long weekend to explore the surrounding area.  As a local, The Girl's friend knew about the popular places in the state parks, and hidden waterfalls down gated dirt roads that we'd probably never find without a local's help.

On our first full day, she took us to Shaft IIA, one of the locals' hidden spots.  She had billed it as a "swimming hole."  Hole was the operative word.  I speak in terms of size, not quality.  It was a lovely, secluded spot, and we only saw one other person and a couple frogs while we were there.  Our golden retriever trail dog got to do a little more swimming than the rest of us--he was the only one who couldn't reach the bottom.

Shaft IIA waterfall

That afternoon, we traded the retriever for another local and drove out to Kaaterskill Falls.  When we found the parking area at the bottom full, we continued driving to a more secluded area near the top and explored the valley's rim before returning to the base and working our way through a tremendous crowd to the base of the falls.  I had mixed feelings here.  The waterfall is a local landmark, and has been photographed, painted, and appreciated for well over a century, but its proximity to the road and impressive grandeur means it's an easy target.  I'm glad so many people are able to visit it.  I really am.  I just wish they would appreciate it more.  The amount of litter along the trail and in the stream was very disheartening, and throngs of people scrambled past the "Don't go past these signs" signs into territory well beyond their ability to get even closer to the falls.  It was a very nice waterfall, but between the trash, cigarette smoke, and braying idiots, the experience was a bit spoiled for me.

Top of Kaaterskill Falls

Kaaterskill Falls

We took a longer hike the next day at Minnewaska Lake Park.  Trails and access roads took us from Minnewaska Lake to Lake Awosting, where we had lunch and swam a while at the only accessible beach--a long, sloping shelf of rock.  Take a thick towel, or do what we did and spend an hour throwing a retriever's very favorite tennis ball, so you never really sit.  The beach was visible from many points around the lake, and we spent a good part of our hike looking forward to that chance to take a swim.  On the walk back to Minnewaska Lake, we detoured briefly to Rainbow Falls, where minerals had stained the cliff face across a broad spectrum, but very little water was running because it had been so dry for so long before our visit.  Still, it was peaceful and pretty, and the dog managed to chase balls for a while the humans took pictures and pointed at things.

Lake Awosting

On our last full day, we finally explored the grounds of the resort.  The Girl and I spent the morning wandering along the Eagle Crest Trail and down through a rock scramble that offered ample opportunity to explore slump caves while her friend did some work.  That afternoon, her friend took us into the Labyrinth, a trail which wound its way up from the lake shore to Skytop Tower via rock scrambles, boulder piles, and a series of wooden ladders built into deep, narrow crevices in the rock.  It was probably my favorite part of the whole trip.

Skytop Tower

One of over 200 "summer houses," with a view of the 'Gunks.

Inside a small slump cave

Labyrinth Ladders

Sandbridge

We slipped out early and drove east.  There was no specific destination in mind; we only knew that if we went far enough, we would find a beach, and if we found a beach, we could play in the ocean and sand.

Sandbridge beach fronted the houses people use to escape the rest of their world; the houses they bother to name, located on streets with nautically themed titles and no defined edges because the sand creeps in on everything, encroaching on driveways, sidewalks, inside spaces, porches, and the scrubby little plots that might be lawns in any other area.  As soon as we arrived, we knew our time there would be limited.  Dark clouds stretched across the northern horizon, from the houses and hotels to some undetermined spot far out in the ocean.  If you watched long enough, you could see the flashes of lightning in their dark bellies.  I dropped my bag and ran for the water.

The slope is shallow, and by the time I was deep enough to get my shoulders under while standing, people on the beach were tiny specks.  I let myself drift back in with waves, and saw a large school of fish coming down the shore towards me.  Waist-deep, I could see the rougher texture they gave the surface of the water for dozens of yards in every direction.  The closest edge was only a few feet from me, and I stood still, waiting for the moment when I would be in the middle of a frenzied flurry of fins, but whenever they got close enough to recognize my presence, a great wave went through their bodies and the closest edge of the school surged away from me again, eyes wide at the surface of the water as they roiled over one another.  Above me, the edge of the clouds gave sharp delineation between the clear skies to the south and the storm approaching from the north.

Some people began slowly gathering their things, knowing the end of their day at the beach was imminent, but their pace belied how little they had to travel to shelter.  We had brought very little, and it only took us a moment to shoulder our bag, pick up our sandals, and start back towards the boardwalk that jutted into the sand like a taunting tongue.  I didn't even get to fly a kite, but perhaps that was for the best.  We had been granted a brief break in the weather for our little adventure before driving back through the storm to the hotel, and dinner.  Something with seafood.

photo credits for this post are The Girl's

Shenandoah strolls

I fell way behind on updates.  My apologies; June has been kind of a big deal.

Two of The Girl's high school buddies (now married to each other for one convenient package) invited us to join them for a weekend of "camping and hiking" in Shenandoah National Park.  I was so excited that it was only a slight letdown when I learned that their idea of "camping" was "cabin with a hot tub."


That's ok.  I still got to go hiking.

I also took charge of the menu, as is my wont (my wont is also to use the phrase "as is my wont" at every opportunity), and baked two apple Dutch Babies to fuel us for the first morning.  The oven was only large enough for one at a time.  Oops.

It's also my wont to go swimming in frigid streams whenever I get the chance.  As luck would have it, we found this pool right around lunchtime, and there was nearly enough sunlight for me to dry out afterwards while munching a pepperoni roll.  Sadly, it was not nearly deep enough to allow jumping, but it was still so cold that when I stood neck-deep in the middle of the pool, I couldn't get my chest to expand enough to yell over the sound of the waterfall.

The Girl informed us these were mountain laurel blooms.  Most of the other blooms had passed.

On our last hike, I saw a small sign for "Cave Cemetery."  Following it, I found a small graveyard which I assume was a family plot; most of the surnames were Cave, and a protected chart on a signpost indicated that their were several unmarked graves for the Cave family.  There were a couple wooden markers dated as recently as 2006, and some obvious replacement markers for graves dating back to the Civil War.

I've always been fascinated by natural history (I'm especially proud of my 5 year old godson's encyclopedic dinosaur knowledge, which far surpasses my own at that age), and although the Shenandoah is not known for its fossil beds, I did learn a valuable lesson about evolution.

Take the Plunge

As mentioned earlier, I planned to join the Polar Plunge as part of my Last Hurrah tour of central Oregon.  In the four years I've been here, I've swam in lots of really cold water, including Crater Lake (water and air were both around 50 degrees that day), the pool below Punchbowl Falls on Eagle Creek (where I realized that I could feel the difference between when I told my arm to move and when it actually responded), and Tamolitch Pool (on three different occasions; on the last two, I jumped from a 40 foot cliff to enter the water.  The last time was the coldest water I can remember swimming.  I'd estimate it was about forty degrees), so I figured a quick dip in the Deschutes wouldn't be a big deal, but I still felt a little nervous about it.  I give credit for that to everyone who reminded me how colossally stupid it was to seek out cold water and jump into it.

The thing is, I was right.  The Plunge was pretty simple, and even a little disappointing in its ease.  I would have happily spent more time swimming out there, but it was just a case of run in, trip and fall under water, get up, run out.  The worst part was standing in line in 28 degree weather with strong winds at our backs waiting to plunge.  Even afterward, soaking wet and looking for the friends who had my towel and dry clothes, I was more comfortable than I had been before, hopping in place to stay warm as a muscle in front of my right hip slowly tightened against the cold.

I was right for another reason, too: it's a great time, however brief it is.  I saw two Alices (of Wonderland fame), one accompanied by a Cheshire cat, Queen of Hearts, playing card person, Mad Hatter, White Rabbit, and what I assume was the Dormouse.  A family of large flowers included three generations of one family; two of those people were in their eighties.  Two women had decorated transparent umbrellas with glittering streamers, making them jellyfish (they won a costume award, and richly deserved it), and three others had transformed themselves into wine bottles (labeled Que Syrah Syrah, Chardonnay-Nay, and a third name which eludes me now, but is just as deserving of a real bottle as the others.  Seriously, winemakers: I appreciate a good sense of humor.  Just ask the nice folks at Maragas.).  Everyone waiting in line was cold, and we were all excited to be there.  I like how a community feeling can arise from such a small cluster of people who only gather for a very short amount of time.

A friend and coworker brought his son and father-in-law to watch the crazy people, and got several pictures.  Some of my favorites are below.

The Law Enforcement Team

Woody, Dora the Explorer, and one of the Alices.  I think this was the Fred Meyer Team.

Flower power!

My group was a bunch of individuals--no team affiliation, just a bunch of crazy people.

I love that when people hit the water, they laughed.  No screaming, no complaining--just lots of people having fun.  Even when we popped up out of the water, we were laughing.

The mouse on fire was one of the lifeguards.  Earlier, I saw one of them throwing rocks out of the plunge area so we wouldn't trip and smash our faces.  Thanks, guys!

Wet tech-shirt contest entrant.